


like a heart undone

by camphollstein



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, F/F, also laf and kirsch being carm's bffs bc plz, and university is a bitch, in which carm is a tired artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camphollstein/pseuds/camphollstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She finds a muse among heavy skies and blank pages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a heart undone

**Author's Note:**

> another au because i simply cannot stop
> 
> title from Petulia by The Kooks

  

“If you could be anyone else, who would you be?”

“No one. I like being myself.”

“Anyone in the world.”

“Someone deaf so I wouldn't hear your squeaky voice.”

“Karnstein.”

Carmilla sighs heavily, lowering her book so she can meet LaFontaine's eyes. “Who would you be, Jekyll?”

“The director of NASA. No- the President of the United States. Then I'd tell everyone that aliens exist.”

A groan is Carmilla's response.

“What? Maybe the government's been lying to us all along!”

“Who cares?”

“I care!”

“Stop caring. It gives you wrinkles,” Carmilla then lowers her glasses, “And you already have enough.”

“What's wrong with aliens?”

LaF cracks a smile at Carmilla's look of disgusted disbelief.

“Stop. Talking.”

They go back to their pile of books and notes on the table, but not before wiggling their eyebrows at Carmilla, who is again focusing on her book. It's close to finals week- too close for comfort, and they've been at the library for over five hours. Five groups of people have come in and out the room, all in various stages of dread and panic, and now only the truly screwed remain.

The door opens again, but Carmilla doesn't glance up; it's not until someone clears their throat that she notices something's changed.

A girl stands by the only available chair on their table. She's small, maybe a couple of centimeters shorter than Carmilla, and looks even tinier because she's got two sweaters on. She smiles nervously at both of them.

 

“Can I sit here?”

Carmilla goes back to her book with a non-committal grunt- LaF is the one to take their books to the side to make her space, which means some of Carmilla's sketches end up on top of her other material. Still silent, she picks them up and arranges them in a messy pile, still eyeing her book.

But she can't help but sneak glances at the girl. She's wearing round glasses that keep sliding down her nose as she types, and her hair is slowly falling out her bun. Even without makeup, she looks lovely, her face something out of a painting.

She keeps sneaking glances until she almost gets caught; not by the girl, but by LaF, who instantly smirks. Carmilla glares at them and stares resolutely at her copy of Beyond Good and Evil, which is much less appealing than the stranger. But if that's what it takes for being spared endless teasing, she'll pay the price gladly.

 

 

Carmilla walks around campus after her final exam. She feels a mixture of elated and apprehensive; the latter because the break means she has to either go back home or stay in her flat, alone in Silas. LaF is on their way to Germany to visit family and Kirsch has a sick relative back home, so she'll get no human interaction for at least a month.

She walks aimlessly through the streets, her lighter backpack bouncing against her back. The sky is dark gray, a never-ending cloud hanging over the city's heart, and it robs Carmilla of any potential drawing scenery. So she walks into a coffee shop for a coffee before going home.

And nearly trips over her feet, because goddamn it, the girl from the library is here.

After fierce inside debate, Carmilla picks up black coffee and sits by a huge window. The girl is sitting diagonally across the room, her face partially covered by her laptop screen. She feels like the biggest creep, just staring at a stranger, so she gets her sketch pad out and opens on a fresh page.

She doodles a bit, sipping on her coffee; random flashes of Kirsch and LaF's faces, a couple of hand outlines. But her mind is set on the stranger- suddenly, the eyes look suspiciously like hers, and the person sitting gets long hair and round glasses. After an hour, it's clear that, whether she consciously wants to or not, Carmilla is drawing her.

Her coffee goes cold as she gives in and accepts it. The next hour is her – again – sneaking glances and filling the pages, until the tips of her fingers blacken with graphite. By the time the stranger leaves the coffee shop, eyes low and backpack bursting, the sky is the same color as the lines.

 

 

The shop is the opposite way to her flat, five blocks from campus. Instead of walking in freezing Styrian winter, she could be stretching out on her comfy couch and watching old movies with popcorn; yet, Carmilla is very much a sucker for a pretty face, so here she is.

A part of her hopes against hope that the girl will be there- that The Lustig is part of the girl's routine. Even though all exams have ended, across all campus, and she could be doing anything else.

Carmilla breathes a sigh when she spots honey hair.

This time, she has a red knitted scarf, one that covers part of her face. She looks soft and, dare she say it, snug, sitting in the same booth. Her laptop – that is covered in stickers varying from a blue police box to a rainbow flag – is open and she has a spiral notebook in which she scribbles things out.

Carmilla picks up her order and slides into the same seat she used before. The Lustig doesn't see much traffic; Silas is a university city, and most of its inhabitants are off to their homelands. Maybe uptown, where actual companies and factories have a bigger presence, they're looking livelier. As it is, the afternoon continues in its lazy rhythm.

Thankfully, Carmilla's mind is anything but lazy at the moment. She gets a couple of good drawings, though her favorite is a whole page of the girl standing. It was hard to get the outline down while she was up, ordering something and chatting with a ginger manning the counter, but she did a decent job.

Her fascination with the girl continues over several days. It's less of a 'hot girl I want to make out with' and more of 'how are you a real person and not a painting'. She is somehow everything opposite of Carmilla's aesthetic, with her big coats and colorful shirts, but it just serves to reel her in even more.

A burst of inspiration like this hasn't come to her in a long time, but this girl somehow created Carmilla's longest run of sketching.

 

 

LaFontaine is a game developer. They're a double major in Computer Sciences and Game Design and Development, two things Carmilla doesn't understand at all and that baffle her daily. But they're really gifted in it, though it means they stay up all night to try and fix things with lines of code while their flatmate tries to sleep.

She's not bitter at all.

She kind of misses the cursing, though, now that the flat is empty. LaF still sends pictures and messages, but it's strange to see someone every day and suddenly not at all. Her steps echo as if it were a bad French indie movie which kind of pisses her off.

The Lustig is too far away that weekend. Snow decides to fall heavily over the city, building up to about Carmilla's shins, and not even the promise of a beautiful girl can make her trek out. Instead, she sits on her couch and reads for hours, until it's time for bed.

It would've been enough to satisfy her a few years - hell, even months - ago. But now she's gotten used to having things to do– to want to _do_ things, and energy keeps building up inside of her. She seeks out release in her old guitar, but even after hours of composing and covering songs, she's bored.

Nothing really entertains her enough and she ends the weekend with a sense of unfulfillment.

 

 

Snowfall is kinder during the week. Only snowflakes slowly fall at dusk; meanwhile, the cold nips at her skin, turning her cheeks red. Everyone is burrowing into their coats outside, and they flock to coffee shops for hot drinks.

On Tuesday, the girl isn't there. Carmilla hangs around for hours, hoping to catch a glimpse of a brown coat, but to no avail. So she tries to get the ginger barista's curls on paper and leaves early.

But she is there the next day- and her heart leaps dangerously at the sight of her, on a new white coat over a beige sweater, and shoes for trekking in snow. Carmilla is wearing the exact opposite: a black coat and a matching sweater and combat boots. Even though she looks great in them, the girl doesn't look at her once, instead hanging at the bar and keeping the barista company.

They don't look like they're dating- not that she cares. But they rarely touch or glance at each other for longer than friends do; the girl just looks like someone who enjoys hanging out with their friend while they work.

Carmilla sits there and watches them from far away. Something keeps her from going up to the counter until the girl slips to the bathroom; then she orders the biggest cup of coffee they have and returns to her seat. The girl almost bumps into her- she opens her mouth to apologize, but Carmilla, taken off-guard, merely stalks past.

Her face feels hot when she sits back down, so she ducks her head and stares intently at her sketchbook. She doesn't risk another glance up until she's halfway done with her drink; the girl is messing with something like a camera, turned away from her, and the ginger is talking quickly. With an impending sense of being out of place, Carmilla sighs, packs up her things, and goes back home.

 

 

When she was a freshman, Carmilla figured out a few things about drinking. The one most relevant to the situation she's in is that, on a Wednesday night, the only people who are at bars are people you probably don't want to meet. Sadly, her brother seems to have missed that information.

It all started innocently enough; he asked if she wanted to go with him to a seedy bar by campus, and she goes because there isn't anything to do at home, other than to think about that damn coffee shop. So there they are, two pale, scrawny-looking twenty-somethings at what looks more and more like a biker bar.

The bartender smiles at her when he slides their whiskeys, and nothing odd happens for a while. Will complains about his ex-girlfriend and drinks too fast, his words getting slurred and mumbled; they're near her apartment, so he'll just crash at her couch and it'll be fine. But then, he starts getting loud and rambunctious, getting the attention from two meatheads at the counter.

One of them only laughs at Will, but the other keeps his eyes on the table. Then, out of nowhere, he gets up and starts talking up to Carmilla. So she's stuck between an aggressive biker and her wasted brother, and the bartender can't see them to help any.

The biker talks more and gets closer to Carmilla; Will finally notices and starts telling him off. So the dude throws Will's drink at his face and grabs her wrist.

Final result: Carmilla gets in her first bar fight in two years, knocking a man a foot taller than her to the ground, and Will sprains his ankle falling from a stool.

At two in the morning, they're at the ER. Her hands are turning purple and pink, she's got a couple of cuts on her upper arm, and an old lady nurse is bandaging a gash on her left forearm. Will is trying to explain what happened to a very amused nurse, who laughs at his attempts at talking; the nurse looks at Carmilla and she shrugs at him, calmly explaining the actual facts.

She carries Will back to her place, still drunk enough to not feel pain, and drops him at the couch. Then she goes to her room and passes out on top of the blankets.

Naturally, this means she doesn't leave the house until Friday.

Wearing gloves hurts, so she tucks her hands into the coat pockets and heads out, bristling at the cold. The wind is harsh and messes her hair up while she walks to The Lustig, but she doesn't mind it as much.

The stranger is there, along with her redhead friend. The barista's eyes widen a little when she sees Carmilla's nicked and bruised hand, and then they linger at her split lip while she takes her order. Carmilla smirks a little and goes to her table with her drink, studiously avoiding their eyes.

She can't draw – it hurts to even hold the cup – so she just hangs around, reading an old book. After an hour, she gets a brownie and a soda instead of coffee, because her hands are shaking from pain and too much caffeine.

Carmilla can't pretend that she goes here for drawing, anymore. The true reason - that she keeps coming back so she can see the pretty stranger - is more and more obvious, as much as she tries to deny it. It echoes in her head, enough to make responding to group texts more appealing.

LaFonBRAIN: _'can't leave you alone anymore'_

LaFonBRAIN: _'two weeks and you got into a goddamn bar fight'_

LaFonBRAIN: _'dunno whether impressed or angry, what the hell karnstein'_

heycarmilla: _'I was behaving.'_

heycarmilla: _'He's the asshole who couldn't take a fucking hint.'_

Kirschster: _'how hard did you hit him?'_

heycarmilla: _'He was still down when I left.'_

Kirschster: _'if you werent my bro id so kiss you rn'_

heycarmilla: _'that's disgusting'_

LaFonBRAIN: _'I am officially impressed :D'_

LaFonBRAIN: _'that's really gross tho kirsch'_

She stays inside until nightfall and snow starts coming down; both her and the stranger leave at the same time, Carmilla opening the door for her. As the girl leaves and turns to the left, Carmilla catches a whiff of coconut shampoo; it clings to Carmilla's scarf for almost a block.

 

 

“Excuse me.”

She blinks. “What?”

The Girl purses her lips. Carmilla gets distracted because it's cute. “You're blocking the door.”

Carmilla sidesteps and the Girl walks in. She's in the Klimt building for a meeting with one of her teachers; the campus is mostly empty, save for the faculty members and lone students like her. But the Lustig Stranger is here, of all places, in a button-up and slacks, and Carmilla is so thrown off it's not even funny.

She doesn't know whether to stay or leave, but the adrenaline rush that overcomes her at the sound of the bathroom door closing makes her speed out of there.

Sadly, it directs her to The Lustig, because her mind has some sick sense of humor. The ginger is there- for the first time, she actually looks at her name pin: Perry. She makes Carmilla's coffee without prompting, and, just for that, Carmilla tells her to keep the change.

Kirsch is back; she's meeting him at his apartment for pizza at eight, but it gives her three free hours, during which she'll probably go over and over what happened earlier. Her professor has offered her a spot on next semester's art exhibition- a huge honor, one that shakes Carmilla to the core.

What has never been in question is that she is _good_ at what she does. Carmilla's paintings and drawings are eye-catching in their balance between hyper-realism and distortion. But for Silas University to actually recognize her as talented enough for their shows is another thing entirely. People from all over the world will come to appreciate and critique the new crop of artists, for better or for worse- though she likes constructive criticism.

The theme will be something about opposites- her professor told her to start thinking about it. She can't use what comes to mind- the girl is off-bounds, certainly. She might end up doing something around Kirsch and LaF and how weird they look next to each other.

She's still thinking about it when the Girl shows up. Carmilla's first instinct is to run again; but then that's too obvious, and she'll notice. But if she stays, the girl will also notice, and maybe realize she's been coming here for three weeks and get weirded out or something-

So she might be overreacting.

But the Girl is so pretty and her voice – God, her voice – is even prettier and Carmilla is so far gone in the matter of weeks. And the worst part is that she's enjoying every second of it.

God, if Mattie heard her now she'd never hear the end of it.

 

 

With the return of LaFontaine a couple of weeks before term starts, Carmilla sees less and less of The Lustig. Hanging out with LaF and Kirsch is easy and part of her normal day-to-day; Kirsch's downright dadaist subjects and childhood glee, and LaF's weird tech talk mixed with sudden life advice are good for balancing her cynical tendencies.

On the last day before classes start, she manages to sneak out to the coffee shop. It's already gotten more costumers, but Perry still remembers her and, most importantly, the Girl is there.

With someone.

A tall redhead – where are all these gingers coming from? - sits across from her. They're talking with their heads close together, and it's not clear if it's because of the noise.

Carmilla's stomach sinks. She doesn't look at their direction again, and gets out as fast as possible.

 

 

“Hey, K?” calls LaF from the living room. “Who's this?”

Carmilla drags herself from the kitchen, still shaking off sleep, and looks at them.

They're looking at her sketchbook, which is filled with images of the Girl. She stalks over and rips it out of their grasp, the closest thing to a blush she gets appearing on her face. LaF has a shark-like grin on.

“Stop looking at my things.”

“Who is it?”

“Who is what?”

“The girl in those drawings. She's like, everywhere.”

“There's no girl.”

“It's literally the same person, K.”

“It's no one.”

“See- the story is changing. Now there _is_ someone. Who is it?”

“No one,” she insists, closing the book and stuffing it into her backpack. “Drop it.”

LaFontaine looks at her like she's crazy. They open the front door, bag slung over their shoulder, and wait for her to gather her things. “Don't be such a grouch, Karnstein. Come on. I won't tease you. Too much.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Unfortunately, LaFontaine continues asking on the way to campus. The city is full again, so they have to yell to be heard over the crowd. Carmilla is torn between wishing for death and committing murder.

They have the same elective at the same time, at the Rembrandt Building, with Kirsch. She basically stomps over when she finally spots him. Ignoring that he's speaking to someone, Carmilla says, “Make them stop talking.”

Kirsch blinks owlishly at them. “What happened?”

“K can't seem to answer a simple question.” LaF promptly responds.

“I did answer! I said no one!”

“You're lying.”

Carmilla rubs at her temple. “How the fuck could you possibly know that?”

“I know you- you wouldn't be filling your pages with some rando-”

“Bros, chill out,” Kirsch says, raising his hands. They both stop talking, and Carmilla takes a deep breath. “Let's forget this and go to class, cool?”

Carmilla's scowl lessens. “Fine.”

LaFontaine is smiling. “Sure thing. Who's your friend?”

Kirsch moves to the side, revealing his companion, and Carmilla might just die. The Girl waves at them, seemingly nervous, her navy messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

“This is Laura,” Kirsch says. “Laura, these are LaFontaine and Carmilla.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Laura is a photography student like Kirsch. They've been in the same classes for over two semesters, but for some reason she never met any of his friends nor he any of hers. She's taking this History elective because she had space left in her Mondays and Wednesdays, and Kirsch invited her to their class. 

She also doesn't like Carmilla at all.

She barely looks or talks to her, and, over the course of two weeks, the only contact they share is through passing class sheets to each other.

To say Carmilla is confused is an understatement. She feels herself wilt any time the group goes for lunch after class and Laura deliberately sits as far away from her as possible. She doesn't know why this is happening; she's not even flirting with her, only trying to be courteous and nice. But Laura acts like she's not even there- or worse, acts like she's a Zeta bro who won't go away.

LaFontaine quickly guessed that Laura is the girl in the sketches. Their excitement and amusement fades too, as Laura evades their attempts to get her to talk to Carmilla. Soon, LaF and her have long conversations as to why, exactly, Hollis seems to despise her existence.

The class, which started off being the highlight of Carmilla's week, turns into a chore every morning, as Carmilla is forced to sit next to her. The worst part is, no matter now little Laura talks to her, she's still captivated by her, a moth to a flame. Or like a delusional fool, as she tells herself at night.

After class, one day, they decide to go to The Lustig. A cruel punishment, seeing as Carmilla is already suffering because Laura is wearing that pretty white coat again. Perry is still at the cashier; Laura introduces them all quickly, intending to sit down fast, but LaFontaine stays at the counter, chatting with the girl.

Carmilla makes a move to sit, but Perry calls out, “The usual, Carmilla?”, and she doubles back to nod. Then she stays with LaF, under the guise of helping bring the drinks, though truly she has just spotted that tall ginger from weeks earlier get in.

She sits at their table with Kirsch and Laura, and Carmilla's jaw is very close to breaking.

Perry gets on her break after serving them; she sits beside Laura in the booth, leaving Carmilla and LaFontaine to squish in with Kirsch. The beanstalk – introduced as Danny Lawrence – eyes them both distrustfully; so what if LaF has a tendency to dress like a mad scientist and Carmilla's jacket has studs? No-one's talking about Danny's incredibly bright orange pants.

“You're an English major?” Kirsch asks Danny.

“Yeah. I'm even TA in Hollis' Lit class.”

LaF and Carmilla share a look. Oblivious, Kirsch continues, “I'm not really good with the reading thing, but a friend told me to get audiobooks.”

“Oh,” Laura brightens, “You should listen to the Harry Potter books again.”

“Never read 'em,” he answers, nodding. “Sure.”

They continue talking about books and, even though Carmilla loves so many and wants to say something – especially when Danny shits on _Dubliners_ – she stays quiet. LaF eventually takes pity on her and gets her into their conversation with Perry; but she's still broody and mildly annoyed.

Perry takes it in stride, though, which confirms her as someone Carmilla doesn't mind hanging out with. Even though she's got a weird obsession with cleaning supplies.

“Nah, dude,” Kirsch says, “I've never met someone as great at art as Carmilla.”

Suddenly all pairs of eyes are on her; her instinctual response is to shrug. “You're not terrible either, Kirsch.”

He gets all puppy-like, as he usually does when Carmilla pays him a – rare – compliment. “Aw, thanks.”

“I'm the best of all of you, though,” LaF says. Carmilla rolls her eyes as the familiar subject comes up. “Don't pretend my pretty games aren't art.”

“No one is, LaF,” she sighs. “They are art.”

“Because I'm tired of people saying shit like that-”

“I didn't mean it like that. I meant like drawing and sculptures and like, fine arts.”

“Oh,” LaF stops to think. “Then fair enough. I can't draw a stick figure to save my life.”

“No, you really can't.” Carmilla and Kirsch say in unison. They look at them with betrayal in their eyes.

Carmilla smirks. “It's true.”

“But you can make cool 2D games!” Kirsch tries to help. LaF's scowl lessens.

“I'm awesome.”

Kirsch nods repeatedly while Carmilla just raises an eyebrow. “You're feeding their ego, Zeta. Stop or their head might explode. On second thought, keep going.”

LaF's fake-gasp is hilarious. “How dare you?”

“Don't fight, tiny people,” Kirsch says, and laughs when they both glare at him. “Just saying.”

“I don't condone violence,” Perry tuts. “Especially not in this establishment.”

“I'm not fighting anything,” Carmilla puts her hands up. “If anything, I'm politely offering facts.”

“I'll offer you a punch in the face, K.”

“Is this about the tiny thing or still the art thing?”

LaF pauses. “I'm mostly angry for the hell of it.”

Carmilla shakes her head and Kirsch laughs beside her. “Karnstein could kick your ass, sorry.”

“Nope.”

“Yes, I could.”

“Are you twelve?” Danny intervenes, but they both ignore her.

“Did you forget how I punched the lights out of that biker three weeks ago?”

The tedium that the other side of the table had fallen to ends as Laura leans forward suddenly. “You did what?”

Carmilla looks at her like a deer in the headlights. LaFontaine switches from angry to stifling laughter.

“I punched a guy.”

“Three weeks ago?” she clarifies.

“Um. Yes?”

“At a bar fight,” Kirsch supplies with approval in his voice. “Pretty neat.”

Danny looks at her with judgment in her eyes. “You got into a bar fight.”

“Are we just stating facts, now?” Carmilla says, her scowl slipping back into place. “Yes, I did. I also won said bar fight.”

“That's why your hands were all bruised?” Perry asks, somewhere between concerned and scandalized.

“Yeah- thankfully, they're fine now. I wasn't able to draw for a _week_.”

“Thank _God_ I wasn't here. You're an asshole when you're not making things.”

Carmilla turns to them again, but then Kirsch says, “Don't start this again.” and she stops. She goes back to sulking and tearing apart the paper from her cupcake, while LaF grins widely at Kirsch. How on Earth these two are her best friends is beyond her.

 

 

The day the professor pulls up slides for class is the day Carmilla's mornings begin improving.

She's bored out of her mind in this class so far. One time, she actually did her homework for _another_ class, which is truly a miracle for her. But this time, she slides down in her desk, prepared for a well-deserved nap.

Someone pokes her after a couple minutes. Carmilla opens one eye. “Wha?”

“Don't leave me alone in this.” Laura whispers.

She's torn between going back to sleep and answering- but it's _Laura_ who is talking and Carmilla has accepted she is a complete idiot when it comes to her. “Go sleep too.”

Laura looks down. “I snore.”

Carmilla bites her lip in an effort to not laugh, but it still comes out, muffled against the fabric of her hoodie. Laura recoils, but she reaches out a hand to get her attention again.

“Sorry,” she says, smiling, “That's adorable. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, cupcake.”

Laura huffs; they both duck as the professor's eyes turn to their direction. “You're a jerk.”

“How am I a jerk?”

“You're laughing at me.”

“Sweetheart, I'm laughing because it's cute. I'm not laughing at you,” Carmilla rolls her eyes. “Also, what's up with people thinking I'm a dick? I'm just quiet. You know who is a dick? Vordenberg, for making us sit here and watch his class.”

Laura is half-amused, half-sheepish. “Sorry.”

“For Vordenberg? Did you spawn him or something? Are you wishing this Hell on us?”

“I'm sorry I thought you were a jerk.”

“Meh. I am.”

“You're being nice right now.”

Carmilla frowns. “Don't get used to it.”

“Now I've seen the true Carmilla Karnstein,” she says sagely. “I'm honored.”

“Look, Hollis- maybe you're the dick in this situation.”

Laura laughs into her hand. “I'm trying not to make dirty jokes but you're making it hard.”

“Oh?”

Their eyes widen and Laura has to hide into her sweater sleeves to keep the whole class from hearing her giggles. “I swear that wasn't one. It just came out!”

“Hm. That happens to a lot of guys.”

Basically what follows is both girls having to leave class from laughing too loudly.

 

 

Being in speaking terms with Laura is great for many reasons. One: she gets to hear her voice. Two: she gets to hear her laugh. Three: she gets to see her smile at her direction. Overall, it's a brilliant development.

What is worrying, though, is that it's getting closer and closer to that moment in every artist/creator friendship where they ask to see your art, and, well, Carmilla has kept drawing Laura consistently for the past two months.

It gets to a point where she decides to keep two notebooks; one for normal things like architecture and figures and the kind of things she used to draw before, and another one for Laura. That book is a lot of figures and outlines- fugues she captures just fast enough. A lot of her hands and outfits; she even manages to get a colored one of her studying with Carmilla and LaF at the library.

It's not that Carmilla doesn't draw everyone else, too. LaFontaine is a great model when they're still, and Kirsch is always more than happy to pose for any class assignment she has. It's fun to draw them, sure- on occasion, she even gives them the finished products. On their apartment, for example, there's a bunch of drawings and pictures stuck to the walls.

Laura sees them, one day; it's after class and they're ordering food at their place. Kirsch is already sat at his chair, a big red thing they found at the flea market; LaF had immediately kicked off their shoes and is now talking to the pizza guy on the phone. The Jolly Ginger Giant is there, too, standing by LaF's spot in the couch.

“What's this?”

Carmilla walks over to look- it's a caricature she drew a year before. Their heads are twice the normal size; LaF is wearing a lab coat and holding an exploded beaker, while Kirsch has no shirt on and a BK crown. It's honestly pretty hilarious.

“These are just things we keep,” she says with a shrug. “As reminders.”

Next is a Polaroid from Kirsch. It's of Carmilla and LaF laughing over big glasses of beer, as freshmen. She still had a red streak in her hair, and LaFontaine wore snapbacks to hide their shaven head. A couple of ripped class notes LaF and Kirsch exchanged in a computer class, a drawing of Kirsch in giant goggles, trying to understand why his photos wouldn't develop, and a quick sketch he made of Carmilla as a cat.

There's a lot to be gleamed about Carmilla in them, which is worrying.

Laura stops at the three biggest pictures. The first is Kirsch with his camera around his neck, looking down at it, the lake at his back- LaF took it, and he insisted they should put it up. Then it's LaF's: they've got an armful of books and their hair is messy, their face serious and focused. Finally, there's the one of her.

Kirsch says it turned out so well that he put it in his portfolio. It's of her a year before, after the breakup. She's staring out a window, as the sun peeks in, casting her half in shadow. He'd said it felt like peering into a part of her not many did; she looks sad in it, her skin white as snow, her fingers black with charcoal.

She likes that it's there. It shows their real selves. Kirsch isn't always a doofus, nor is LaF always irreverent, nor is Carmilla always aloof. And it's nice that they're all privy to that side of each other.

Carmilla has never had many friends, but God if she doesn't have the best.

“Wow,” Laura says, a small sound of wonder. Carmilla shuffles in place. “These are beautiful.”

“Tell that to Kirsch,” she hums. “He'll love it.”

“Did you make this?”

It's a painting; one of the only ones she's let see the light of day. A simple watercolor of the three of them. But somehow, it feels a lot more intimate than it really is.

She turns halfway at LaF's direction, so she won't have to look at Laura's impossibly bright eyes. “Yes. Not my favorite, but yeah.”

To Carmilla's eternal relief, LaFontaine picks that moment to call for her. Carmilla then finds herself in the middle of a discussion on DC versus Marvel – which she ultimately dubs unnecessary – and the subject of her paintings doesn't come up again.

 

 

Laura, however, is tenacious.

During class, her favorite pastime is to watch Carmilla draw; the amount of times Carmilla finds her staring unabashedly is enough to bring a blush to her cheeks. Eventually, as days pass, she starts doodling little cartoons of her complaining about historical figures and making fun of Vordenberg's bald spot.

Meanwhile, she finds out that Laura makes origami, so sometimes class ends with a bunch of tiny paper animals on her desk, with Laura's being filled with scraps of paper. Carmilla always keeps them- they're in a shelf on her bedroom, next to a picture of Will and Mattie.

But as time goes by, Carmilla's infatuation doesn't go away. The more time they spend together, the more and more she is enthralled by Laura's presence.

 

 

Carmilla is, according to LaF, a great musician.

She rarely talks about it, since she really only plays at home and at the park. LaF enjoys her playing when they're working, and Kirsch – when he comes by – hums along while reading or watching TV.

She's in the living room, feet on the coffee table, when Laura comes in. LaF gave her a key after she spent three days straight at their house, so that they wouldn't have to get up to let her in. Her expression is priceless when she catches Carmilla sitting with an Artcore on her lap, free-styling to a jazz backing track.

“Hey, cutie,” Carmilla says, “I thought you were in class.”

Laura doesn't respond, instead reaching into her bag for her camera. Carmilla huffs a laugh and goes back to her guitar, waiting for the click.

“Sorry,” the other girl says, sheepishly. “The lighting was great and-”

“You don't have to explain it to me,” Carmilla tells her, a rare smile blooming on her face. “Some things you just gotta capture. I get it.”

Laura sits across from her, silent for the rest of her playing. When the backing ends and silence returns to the house, she speaks- her voice, as usual, making Carmilla's heart skip a beat.

“I didn't know you could play.”

Carmilla looks down at the electric guitar, plucking some strings at random. “Not many people do.”

“It was beautiful.”

She blinks rapidly, stuck between embarrassed and enamored. “Thank you, cupcake. Would you mind if I kept playing?”

Laura shakes her head vigorously. “No- keep playing.”

Before she plays the backing again, she says, “Print that out, we can put it up later.”

Her answering expression is of complete delight.

Later, when the guitar is safely put away and Laura is trying to explain how to use chopsticks, Carmilla realizes that maybe no one has offered to put her stuff up anywhere, and it knots up her chest. She just looks so radiant, with her golden hair and cat sweater- it baffles her to think not everyone is head over heels for her.

Kirsch sits by their side at the kitchen table; he listens intently as Laura tells him to put the little sticks parallel to each other. His white Fujifilm camera pokes out his messenger bag, together with a bunch of faded receipts and his student ID. She plucks the camera out, neither of them noticing, and lines up a shot just as Kirsch manages to get chicken to his mouth.

“Noooo,” he pouts. “I look like an idiot.”

“You always do.”

“You're mean, K.”

“I know. You're the nice one, remember?”

Laura frowns. “You're both nice.”

 

 

They go to a bar, after the midterms. The whole city is in party-mode; their neighbors walk around with party hats and there's Snapchats of people hollering all over Bauman Avenue. Kirsch somehow managed to get a giant lei and a bright green pair of plastic glasses, and he runs into the bar with LaF hot on his heels.

She downs her their traditional tequila shot in the first three minutes of getting there. People swarm the place, but most don't stay long; she can spot when Danny gets in with Perry, and her heart somersaults when Laura's face comes into view.

“Hey, Carm,” Laura says, leaning in for a hug. Carmilla holds her, counting down to the moment Laura lets go, but she only does so so she can greet the others. After that, she returns to Carmilla's arms, her drink safely on her hand. “Drink already?”

“Just a shot,” she replies at her ear. “LaF will get me a Jägerbomb soon.”

“I'm gonna stick to my sugary stuff for now.”

She's exhausted from the exams, so the alcohol goes straight to her head. Carmilla nuzzles onto Laura's neck, breathing her in, her back curved from leaning down from her stool. Laura's free arm goes around her waist, and her voice booms under Carmilla's ear as she keeps talking to Danny.

“You smell nice.” She breathes against Laura's skin, smirking as a shiver goes down her spine.

“Thanks,” Laura says, her thumb rubbing circles against her hip. “I aim to please.”

LaF calls her attention and Carmilla drops down a kiss to Laura's shoulder, red lipstick staying, and takes the offered glass. She moves away, keeping an arm around Laura, and sips at her drink.

“You know who I just bumped into?” LaF asks the table. “Elsie.”

Kirsch wiggles his eyebrows at Carmilla, much to her chagrin.

“Elsie? Like- SumSoc Elsie?” Danny asks.

“I think?” Carmilla sighs. “I don't know. Didn't ask.”

“You didn't talk at all,” LaF smirks. “I'm surprised you even know her name.”

“She isn't coming here, is she?”

Kirsch and Danny laugh at the horror in her voice; Perry huffs.

“I think she left, Karnstein, you're good.”

Laura is rigid against her, silent as she knocks back the rest of her drink. Carmilla pokes her side- she squeaks and glares at her.

“What's up?”

“Nothing.”

“You're frowning.”

Laura schools her face into something neutral, but it just serves to worry Carmilla even more. She puts her drink on the table and reaches to tuck Laura's hair behind her ear; Laura looks down, her own hand squeezing at Carmilla's waist.

“Are you okay? Do you want to go home? I can walk you.”

Laura shakes her head. Quietly, she says, “Who is Elsie?”

Carmilla grimaces. “I slept with her a couple of months ago. LaF caught her leaving the house and never let me forget.”

“Were you...”

“Dating? God no.” The answer doesn't seem to help with Laura's sudden bad mood, so she keeps going. “I didn't want to date her then. I wasn't in a place for it- and we had basically nothing in common.”

“Oh.”

She remains aloof for a while. Everyone continues drinking. Even in her quiet annoyance, Laura doesn't leave Carmilla's side, always touching her in some small way; Carmilla hasn't had enough to blame the butterflies on alcohol.

“I was trying to get over someone, when I slept with Elsie.”

Laura glances up mid-gulp. “Did it work?” she asks after, her breath alcohol and sugar.

“Not really. I'm over her, though.”

A hum is all she gets, as Laura throws her drink back.

 

 

“Did someone spit on your coffee or something?”

Carmilla raises her head from the table, blinking until the person is visible. “Don't start.”

Laura throws her bag down and sits across from her, peering from over her steaming cup. “What's up?”

“Three. Seminars.” she groans. “Ugh. You guys think I'm the asshole- you should meet my pedantic, senile Classical Art professor. Three seminars about _absolutely nothing of importance_ \- ones that he sprung up out of nowhere. And he knows we have to present our final art on Sunday. Sure- not like I have a life or anything. Please, take all of it. Feed on it, dickhead.”

Laura's head tilts to the left. “I think that's the most I've seen you say at once.”

Carmilla is positive her eye is twitching. “I swear to God-”

“I don't think you're an asshole!” Laura catches up, instantly a ball of tiny fury at the apparent mistake. “You're great!”

She raises a perfect eyebrow in response. “Sure.”

Perry comes by with Carmilla's coffee. At her inquisitive stare, Perry rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. You've been nodding off for an hour. It was a matter of time.”

Strangely touched, Carmilla thanks her quietly, sipping from her cup. Laura looks at her as if her point was just proven- which it wasn't. Just because she's not awful to _everyone_ , doesn't mean she's good. But she lets it go, too tired to argue after today's Epistemology class.

“Carm,” Laura snaps a photo with her phone as Carmilla looks up. “Thanks.”

“Are all pictures in your Snapchat me frowning?”

“You're always frowning, so yeah, probably.”

She huffs and drops her head again. “I miss sleeping. I miss my bed.”

“Well, tomorrow is Saturday. You can sleep in.”

Carmilla shakes her head against fake wood. “Did you even listen? I have to give them my final answer on which work I want to be shown.”

“Why is that a problem?”

Instead of answering, she blindly rummages around her bag and hands Laura her notebook. The noise of pages flipping almost lulls her to sleep; she waits a little and lifts her head, intending to chug her coffee, and instead freezes, looking at Laura's hands.

She gave her the red notebook. The one filled with _her_.

“Fuck.”

Laura raises her eyes from the pages, her expression impenetrable. Feeling a heavy anchor pulling at her gut, Carmilla wrenches it out of Laura's grasp in a frenzy; her hands shake as she holds it close to her chest.

The place stays quiet- there's almost no one out at this time. Perry makes noises at the back, cleaning out the sink for the next shift. A faulty group head drips faintly. Laura doesn't move.

Carmilla sighs. “I'm sorry.”

Laura, in lieu of an answer, opens her book bag. She watches in trepidation as she picks something up from the bottom, putting it down softly on the table. It's a stack of photographs, kept together by a loose rubber band.

Tentatively, Carmilla picks them up, after Laura nods at her. Dropping her notebook, she turns her attention to the photos.

They're all of _her-_ of Carmilla.

The first one is from the first day she went to The Lustig- she knows this because she memorized everything from then. Her head is bowed, her black hair falling over her face; heavy boots with wet laces and droplets of water clinging to her sweater. The next, from the second day, her face half-visible as she scratches at her cheek, lost to the world.

They continue, days and days on end. The vision evoked is one of awe, of admiration- as if Carmilla is a beautiful happening of nature Laura captured on film. They merge from stills from her first days at the coffee shop, to a surprisingly close shot of her bruised hands after that bar fight, to her back as she draws a random guy at their shared class.

As time passes, the shots get closer and closer, losing the sense of distant viewer in favor of putting her dead-center. They get warmer and less black and white, turning into blue and red as they move to her house. There's Carmilla napping on LaF's grandma's rocking chair, her playing poker with Kirsch and Danny, her hiding as Laura peers out the front door for a surprise.

Finally, Carmilla starts looking at Laura for them. Sometimes is just a glance as she shakes her head in exasperation or laughter, or a frustrated look when LaF and Danny get into an argument, or when someone calls for her and she turns. Less often, it's Carmilla making faces or smirking when she catches the lens turned at her direction.

The two last ones give her pause. One is of her and Laura, taken by someone else – probably Kirsch – at the living room. Carmilla has her arm around Laura's shoulders, looking down at her; Laura's arms are blurs of movement as she gestures. There's no denying, though, that the focus is on Carmilla's face, soft in affection, eyes shining under the broken ceiling lamp.

The other is of Carmilla's profile, her cheek black with charcoal, as she bows over a sketch. A sunbeam shines in from the open window, casting her face in sharp, gold light, her downward eyes lightening as the sun crosses her irises. And it's amazing, how Laura makes her look regal in a messy top bun and an old Silas sweatshirt.

Is this how she sees her?

Carmilla looks up, eyes wide and searching, but Laura starts to shove things inside her bag. Before Carmilla can find her voice, Laura gets up and stalks on the way to the door.

She throws her stuff in her backpack, clutching the photographs on her left hand, and sprints out after her, ignoring Perry's shocked scolding. Laura is almost at the end of the block- she struggles to catch up with her.

“Laura!” she calls, but the girl doesn't turn around. Before she can cross the empty street, Carmilla catches her arm, pulling her back under the streetlamp.

“It's stupid, you're freaked out,” comes her teary voice, struggling to get out. “I'm sorry-”

Carmilla shuts her up by stepping forward and catching the rest of her sentence with her mouth.

It's soft and she didn't really mean to do it – but she _needed_ to kiss her, God – so it's over quick. Before her eyes can open, however, Laura's hand moves to the back of her neck and pulls her down again, pressing up against her in all the empty slots.

Kissing Laura is better than she could have ever imagined.

“I'm not freaked out,” she laughs breathlessly. “How could I be, if I've been doing the same for months?”

Laura's eyes can't decide whether to focus on Carmilla's mouth or her eyes; she kisses her again, just because she can, and Laura sighs, fingers on her hair. Carmilla feels like she's spinning when she's really standing still; she stuffs the photos into her pocket so that both hands are free to touch her back.

“I had no idea,” Laura pulls away as she giggles. “You were always so disaffected-”

“You hated me!” Carmilla defends herself. “You never even looked me in the eye.”

“You're scary. And you blocked the bathroom door.”

She groans. “I was taken aback by you being there, okay?”

Laura smiles brilliantly as Carmilla huffs. “By _me_? The great Carmilla Karnstein, taken aback by _me_?”

“Is it that hard to see that I have a huge crush on you?” she asks, incredulous. “Everyone knew. LaF has been pestering me for weeks.”

“You have a crush on me?” she parrots back. Carmilla glares at her. “I thought for sure that this was one-sided.”

“You're surprisingly unobservant for a photographer.”

Laura smacks her playfully on the arm. “That's no way to talk to your crush.”

“You are! I've been into you for _ages_ , creampuff.”

An 'awwwww' is Laura's answer. “Your notebook is a testament to that.”

Carmilla squeezes Laura's sides, causing the girl to squeal. “Cheeky.”

A car honks at the streetlight and they suddenly remember they're in the middle of the sidewalk. Thanks to the late hour, almost no one is out, streets quiet as college students sleep. Carmilla tugs Laura in the direction of her house, smiling as the girl laughs and follows her, holding her hand with her two.

They stop often, pressing each other up on walls and posts, stealing kisses and hugs. Laura clings to her, as if she'll disappear when she lets go. Not that Carmilla wants her to. She's in a haze- Laura's skin, Laura's scent, Laura's voice. Completely enraptured by her lips on hers, ever wanting, chasing her even when they part to smile.

 

 

Her submitted piece stands proudly on the main floor of the gallery. It's a big, black and white charcoal painting of a hand. It's open, palm facing down, the middle finger pointing to the ground. Veins are stark as they run down freckles and smooth skin. It looks like a real hand when from afar, but, up close, she's let just enough blank spaces for a keen observer to realize it's a painting.

The only art next to it on the wall is another hand. This time, it's a color photograph of a tan hand, palm facing up. It's vibrant and happy, the complete opposite of the one beside it, but the lines are just a bit blurred, and sometimes it gets harder to discern why exactly it feels unfocused. Under both frames, the artist's names are printed in black letters.

 _C. Karnstein & L. Hollis_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i keep forgetting to say that i have a tumblr- it's the same username, if you wanna follow it


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